


Counting No Old Thing Old

by drneroisgod



Category: H.I.V.E. Series - Mark Walden
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:46:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 1,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26736829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drneroisgod/pseuds/drneroisgod
Summary: A sequence of Franz/Nigel drabbles for Fantober 2020! They are short and sweet and in love and there's nothing you can do about it.
Relationships: Diabolus Darkdoom & Nigel Darkdoom, Franz Argentblum/Nigel Darkdoom
Comments: 44
Kudos: 5





	1. Love Confession

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine,  
> I must each day say o'er the very same;  
> Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine,  
> Even as when first I hallowed thy fair name.
> 
> -Shakespeare, Sonnet 108

Red orchid on the table. No return address, no name. Red orchid in a red pot beneath a hazy orange lamp in a cramped apartment. 

A note: 

_ Hi, _

_ How’s life been? I never thought I’d miss going to school. _

_ I’m doing this wrong. I want to say: I miss you. I want to see you again.  _

_ I think I’m in love with you. _

_ Give me a call?  _

A phone number. A voicemail box. A call back—laughter, only a little awkward. A date set.

A chocolate bar, split in half alongside a river in Paris. Hands. Lips. A walk home together. 


	2. Sleepover

“We can’t keep doing this,” Nigel said, staring up at the ceiling. Next to him, Franz sat up in bed, contemplative.

“Why not? I am having a good time.” He paused before saying, meaningfully, “It  _ seems _ like you are having a good time.”

“Of course I am! It’s not that, Franz, really, it’s just... We have our careers. And people—”

Franz waved his hand dismissively. “Why should we care what the other people think?”

“I think I need time to make a decision,” Nigel said. 

“Okay,” Franz replied softly, laying down again. “But it might be easier than you think.”


	3. First Meeting

“Can you believe we were roommates for six years and never figured out we liked each other?” 

Franz slid next to Nigel on the couch. “What do you mean? I liked you from the moment we met.”

“What, in the helicopter?” Nigel frowned. “I mean  _ romantically _ .”

“If you had asked me to kiss you, I would have.”

“You are a liar,” Nigel laughed. “You were practically crying. You were terrified. We both were!”

“But on the inside,” Franz insisted, “I was all romance.”

“Okay, Mr. Romance, kiss me like a kidnapped thirteen-year-old. Show me what I missed.”

“No.”

“See? Liar!”


	4. Road Trip

“I know, Dad,” Nigel said. “Listen, I’ll call you when we’re at the hotel. Dad? Dad! You’re breaking up!” He ended the call before the microphone could catch Franz’s laughter. “Oh, hush.”

“It’s meant kindly,” Franz assured him. “Have you told him yet?”

“That I’m quitting the incredible job he gave me so that I can move across the continent to live with you? Nope. But I have eight hours to think of something.”

“Longer, if we stop in Prague for a few hours.”

“We can’t do that. Franz?”

Franz took the next exit with a smile on his face.


	5. Moving In

“Where do y’all want this?” Shelby asked, carrying in a bedside table. 

Nigel rolled his aching shoulders. “The guest room, please.”

“That’s the green one, right?” she asked, charging upstairs.

“We have kitchen boxes,” Otto panted. Wing followed. He had not even broken a sweat.

“Just on the table,” Franz said. “We want those unpacked first.”

Laura grabbed Nigel in a side-hug. “This is so exciting. I’m so proud of you both.”

Franz and Nigel shared a long, happy look. “Thanks.”

Upstairs, there was the sound of breaking glass. Shelby appeared at the balcony.

“Okay, promise you won’t be mad.”


	6. Haunted

Franz woke Nigel. “Did you hear that?”

“No, I—” Nigel froze. “Wait. I hear it, too.”

_ Scritch, scritch, scritch. _

“It’s probably an animal got into the attic,” Nigel said, trying to sound braver than he felt.

“But we don’t have an attic,” Franz said. They looked at each other.

_ Scritch, scritch, scritch _ . 

“Come with me,” Nigel said. Wrapped in blankets, they crept through every room, searching for movement. Nothing on the roof outside. Nothing in the yard.

_ Scritch, scritch, scritch. _

“What if it’s a ghost?” Franz whispered.

“Leave us alone, ghost!” Nigel shouted. “We’re sleeping!”

To their surprise, it stopped.


	7. Proposal

“We should get married.”

“Oh, let’s not.”

“We should get married.”

“It’s too soon.”

“We should get married.”

“Should we? Why?”

“We should get married.”

“You sound like my dad.”

“We should get married.”

“No!”

“We should get married.”

“Nice try, buster.”

“We should get married.”

“Are you going to ask on every special occasion?”

“We should get married.”

“Can’t hear you, too busy sleeping.”

“We should get married.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“You mean it? You’ll marry me?”

“Yes, Franz. I’ll marry you.”

“I do.”

“I do.”

“We should have a baby.”

“Don’t you start on that one, mister.”


	8. Neighbors

“Retired,” Nigel grumbled. “Retired, my hat.”

“Your hat?” Franz said, staring intently at his computer screen and not paying much attention whatsoever to the things coming out of his husband’s mouth.

“There are other places to make friends! And on top of that, I’m not his friend, I’m his son.”

Franz, who had not been on speaking terms with his parents for some months now, offered Nigel a skeptical look. Nigel ignored him. 

“What’s wrong with living in a submarine, anyway?” 

Franz glanced outside. Next door, in his sock feet, Diabolus Darkdoom waved through the window. Franz waved back, smiling.


	9. Picnic

“You look tired,” said Diabolus, patting the empty grass next to him. 

“That’s because I  _ am _ tired,” Franz replied, dropping heavily to his knees. “I don’t think I slept all night.”

Diabolus chuckled sympathetically. “You’ll get there, son. It just takes time.”

“How much time?” Franz asked plaintively.

“Don’t say eighteen years.” Nigel said, passing his husband a sandwich. “Because that’s not funny.” 

“Of course not,” Diabolus said. He adjusted the tiny baby laying in the crook of his arm as she murmured in her sleep. “Maybe seventeen and a half.”

“This is not making me feel better,” Franz sighed.


	10. Art Class

Daisy chirruped with delight to see her father return. 

“How’s my girl?” Nigel swept baby into his arms.

“We went to art class at the library and drew some pictures,” Franz confided from his seat on the floor. 

“Did you draw?” Nigel asked Daisy. “What did you draw?”

Franz proudly presented several papers heavily afflicted with crayon. 

“Wow,” Nigel said appreciatively. He noticed a more experienced hand on the table. “And what did you draw, hon?”

Franz gave him an equally confusing presentation of wax and ink. “It’s a semi-orbital platform with death rays and machine guns.”

“Oh. Very cool.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was trying to think of plant names to give their daughter (Violet was obviously out) and then I watched an episode of The Magic School Bus about plants and this guy named Archibald Seedplot who had a crush on Ms. Frizzle started singing "Daisy Bell" by Nat King Cole while biking over to the school and I paused the episode to go listen to the whole song because I was intrigued and then I immediately listened to it six times in a row and that was an hour and a half ago so I am still too emotionally involved with this song to consider ANY OTHER NAME because THIS SONG IS STUPID GOOD.


End file.
